


Seas of Love and Revenge

by thatawkwardfriend



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Betrayal, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Jealous Victor, Jealousy, M/M, Original Character(s), Pirate Sherlock, Prisoner John, Romance, Sassy John, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7248955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatawkwardfriend/pseuds/thatawkwardfriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is taken captive on a pirate ship. And not just by any pirate: the legendary Captain Sherlock Holmes. John's cooperation is essential to Sherlock, but he remains stubborn. However, it doesn't take long for John to grow attached to the fascinating pirate, and what started off as a mutually hateful relationship soon blossoms into something more. Together they navigate the threat of Moriarty, a jealous Victor Trevor, swashbuckling adventure, elaborate evil plans, ocean storms, saving each others lives countless times all while the romantic tension between them increases by the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When John Watson agreed to go out on a cruise boat with some of his old military mates, he was hoping for a relaxing summer holiday weekend with beer, sun, and swapping old war stories. So when the massive pirate ship pulled up to their cruise boat, it was not the most pleasant turn of events. When his friends were all held at gunpoint while he was gagged and manhandled onto the ship, he simply thought, I just can’t get a break, can I. Yet deep down there was an underlying thirst to feel this kind of adrenaline again, and a burning curiosity to see where this would take him.

John was shoved down to his knees by a pair of rough hands. His blindfold was yanked off leaving him looking up at two large, burly men snickering down at him. One was a brunette and one had a short blonde ponytail. He knew that by this time, the pirate ship had sailed far out at sea and his friends were miles behind him. It would be pointless to try and run. 

The blonde man hauled him to his feet by his armpits saying, “Up you go.” John was not self-conscious of his small size, but he did not appreciate others using it as an invitation to talk to him like a child. As the blonde man began to search him, he stuttered, “Yeah, just a minute… I should probably tell you…” He pulled John’s gun out of his back pocket and looked at him accusingly. 

John leaned forward and whispered, “Doesn’t mean I’m not pleased to see you.”   
The blonde man chuckled darkly, handed off the gun, and said, “The mouth on this one.” He grabbed John by the front of his jacket and lifted him up easily. “We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?” The brown-haired man murmured in agreement and glared at him. “Captain don’t like the mouthy ones.” Dangling from the arms of a large, angry man, John decided against his better judgement to reply. 

“Yeah, well then maybe your captain should come deal with me himself instead of leaving his two beefy thugs unsupervised with a gun.” The man narrowed his eyes, growled and shoved John back against a tall wooden post, his feet still dangling off the ground. John was beginning to realize this could end very badly for him. His mouth had gotten him into sticky situations before, but nothing like this: two men, both larger than him, ready to pound him into the ground while he was pinned helpless.

As the man pulled his arm back to punch, a deep, baritone voice bellowed out, “Mr. Jackson!” The man released him and John fell to the ground on his back. He heard authoritative footsteps slowly approach them. “If I wanted our prisoner beaten and pummeled I would have given the order to do so as soon as he was brought on board. And I certainly would not have assigned the task to someone who spent his first ten waking minutes today struggling to wrestle out of a tangled, inside-out shirt and then proceeded to spill his breakfast all over his lap like a bumbling idiot. For future reference, Mr. Jackson, you are to do only as I instruct you and nothing else. Is that clear?”

“Aye, Captain,” he replied quietly, much less confident than he was a moment ago.

“Good. Hand over the gun and leave.” 

John heard the men scurry away and finally dared to move. He attempted to sit up when a shiny black boot on his chest shoved him back down. He looked up, and on the other end of it was a tall, lean man squinting down at him. He had a pale skin and head of messy, black curls topped off by an impressive black pirate hat. He wore a thin, white shirt with a long, black coat that trailed behind him dramatically. 

John couldn’t help thinking how majestic he looked. He truly wore his pirate captain attire very well. His hands were folded behind his back as he leaned forward and down towards John. The gaze of his piercing blue-gray eyes all but stabbed into him as they swept over his whole face. 

John shook himself out of whatever trance he had just entered and remembered the man’s incredible deductions from a moment ago. “That… was amazing.” 

“What?”

“What you figured out about that Jackson bloke. It was extraordinary! You are quite the clever fellow.” 

The man’s sharp gaze bore into him for a moment longer before he spat back, “You are to address me as Captain Sherlock or Holmes. Nothing else. Understand?”

John’s eyes grew wide. Sherlock Holmes? THE Sherlock Holmes? The infamous pirate he had heard endless tales about? No. Way. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his expression. “Yes, the one from all your ridiculous stories. God, it’s physically painful watching you think. LESTRADE!” A fit man with short, dark gray hair approached them. “Take him down to the brig. Let him rest up. I’ll talk to him later.” As Sherlock removed his boot from John’s chest, the man called Lestrade bent down and offered him his hand. 

John was taken aback. He had expected to be roughly hauled up like he was with Jackson, but here he was being offered a hand up. He took the man’s hand and was pulled gently to his feet.

“Alright?”

“Yeah, thanks.” The man led him down two levels below the deck and shut him in a small cell.   
“We’ll bring you something to eat in a bit,” he offered with a weak, apologetic smile, and left.

John laid himself out on the hard cot, trying to process everything that had just happened. He was being held captive on a pirate ship. And not just any pirate. Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, after John has suspected night had fallen, he heard loud, slow footsteps thumping down the stairs that had led him to the brig. Sherlock Holmes turned around the corner and faced John, who was still lying in his cot. The pirate stood with his back straight and hands folded behind his back waiting to be acknowledged. John sensed his attempt at a power play and stayed staring straight up at the ceiling with a smirk, refusing to give in. A minute or so of this silence passed before the captain grew restless. He cleared his throat impatiently.

“I suppose you are wondering why you’ve been brought here against your will, John Watson.” Wondering how he knew his name, John stirred uneasily but still refused to make eye contact or reply. Sherlock gave a frustrated sigh before continuing, “You were scouted out as the leader of your comrades and brought here to provide me with information essential to the success of my plan.”

_Leader? Plan? What the hell was this nutter on about?_

“For the sake of your well-being I suggest you cooperate upon being questioned. The faster you surrender the information I ask of you the better off you will be.”

At this, John sat up and looked the pirate dead in the eyes. “Are you threatening me?” 

Unfazed, Sherlock replied, “Are you threatening me, _Captain_."

“You sure about that? I mean, I understand the coat, but the hat is a bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”

Sherlock stated at him a moment as if trying to figure him out. Shaking his head once at the unexpected retort, he continued, “Enough of this. Tell me. What do you know of the whereabouts of pirate lord Jim Moriarty?”

_Jim Moriarty?_ He had never heard of a pirate lord aside from Sherlock in his life, let alone the name Jim Moriarty. But if Sherlock Holmes thought he was some great leader withholding valuable information, John was sure as hell going play along. 

“What makes you think I’d tell you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you are the one behind bars at the bottom of a pirate ship, and I am more than capable of letting you starve.” 

John laid back down. “I was in the military, mate. I can go for longer than you think without food. If that’s all you’ve got, we’ll be here awhile.” 

Sherlock’s face scrunched up in anger at the colloquial address. He unlocked the door, stormed inside, and grabbed John by the front of his shirt. Bending so his nose was almost touching John’s, he growled through gritted teeth in his deep, baritone voice, "I am not your mate. I am your Captain. And as of right now, you are my lowly, pathetic prisoner. And if you so stupidly choose not to cooperate with me, I will very much make your life here a living hell.” 

John smirked, unintimidated. “Alright, suite yourself, mate.” 

Sherlock scowled down at him and spat, “Fine. Stay down here and rot.” And with a dramatic flip of his coat behind him, he was gone. 

Furious, Sherlock stormed up several levels before reaching the captain’s quarters, resting his hand on the door handle, and closing his eyes. His cold-hearted antics had always gotten prisoners to crack almost instantly in the past. Why was this one being so infuriatingly stubborn? And his hat looked fantastic on him, thank you very much! 

He sighed deeply rubbing his temples. If intimidation didn’t work on this one, which he should have been able to tell by how he responded to Jackson, he will have to try a different approach. As frustrating as it was, he saw this new prisoner as a challenge. And he looked forward to beating it. As he was about to open the door and turn in for the night, he heard familiar footsteps approach him from behind. He looked behind him down at the all too familiar brown-haired, stocky man.

“What do you want, Victor?” As invaluable as his second-in-command was to him, he did have an annoying habit of showing up at the worst times. 

“Sherlock. I just wanted to ask about the new prisoner.”

“It’s Captain to you, Victor. Whatever our relationship might have been in the past, you are still to address me as your leader.” 

“Right. So… what did you get out of him.”

Sherlock looked down, not eager to admit defeat. “Nothing. He didn’t talk.” As Victor opened his mouth, he was immediately cut off. “Save it. I know. This one is being particularly obstinate. We’ll just have to go about it differently.”  
“Right. And how exactly will we do that?”

“Well, we know Moriarty has been following a very distinct pattern with his pirating, which we’ve tracked successfully up until now. John and his comrades hold the next vital piece of information necessary to complete this pattern. If we are to catch up to Moriarty before he slips away again, John will need to forfeit every bit of information on Moriarty’s whereabouts. Or at least everything he can remember from the last time they met.”

“John?”

“The prisoner.”

Victor looked wary of Sherlock’s casual use of his first name. “…. Right.”

“It’s fine. I’ll try again tomorrow.” Tomorrow. He thought. John will go without food or drink all the way until tomorrow. If intimidation and food deprivation had no effect on him, there was no point in denying him something to eat. 

Victor laid a hand on his shoulder. “Will you be going to bed now, Captain?” Sherlock brushed his hand off none too gently. 

“Victor, whatever our association may have been before is history now. You will do better to respect that and refrain from approaching my quarters for reasons unessential to running this ship. Is that clear?” Without waiting for an answer, Sherlock stormed off towards to stairs. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To bring John some food.”

“Can’t you get one of the crew members to do that for you?”

“No, it’s…. I’ll do it myself.” He disappeared down the stairs leaving a confused Victor squinting after him.


	3. Chapter 3

John woke up the next morning to the sound of rattling keys and his cell door creaking open. The gray-haired man called Lestrade smiled weakly at him. “The Captain wants you up on deck.” 

“Right.” John groaned, sitting up and stretching. “Lestrade, right?”

“Greg is fine.” 

John rose and was led by Greg up two flights of stairs to the deck. Looking around, he realized how beautiful and majestic this ship actually was: the golden brown floor boards, the proud, white sails flapping wildly in the wind, the tropical scent of the sea right under his nose. He must have missed it in all the craziness from yesterday.

“Right, so. What am I here for?” 

Greg handed him a raggedy mop and a bucket of gray, soapy water. “Captain says if you won’t talk, he at least wants to put you to good work. You know, help out. Do something beneficial to the ship.” He shrugged. “He has little patience for anyone who isn’t directly useful to him. That’s why our crew is so small.”

John took the mop and plunged it into the slushy water. _Well this is bullshit_ , he grumbled to himself as he began soaking the wooden floor boards. Leaning on the handle of the mop, he looked up and took in the scene once more. The two crew members who had almost beaten him to a pulp yesterday were off to one side pulling on the sails. On the other side, Greg was standing at the wheel steering rigorously. One half, level below him was a young girl with a long brown ponytail going through a bin of what looked like heavy firearms. 

At the tip of the bow, on the highest floor level on deck, was Sherlock Holmes. He stood with his back to the crew, hands clasped behind his back and gazing out into the ocean in front of him. His long, black coat flapped behind him as his loose curls danced in the wind underneath his hat. With the intense white sun directly beating down on him and the great, deep blue ocean expanding around him, he looked absolutely magnificent. Like a picture from a storybook.   
John let his mind wander to all the tales about the great pirate Sherlock Holmes. All the sword fighting and quick escapes… and here he was on his ship. Sherlock turned his head slightly, as if he could sense John ogling him. He made no move to look away however. The sight was too breathtaking and unreal, John feared if he let his gaze slip away, it would disappear forever. 

“I thought you were given a job to do,” said a voice behind him. John realized how long he must have been staring and turned to see a stocky man with short, dark brown hair looking back at him. 

“Yep. On it. And surely you have one to do as well?” The man scoffed at him with an unfriendly grin. 

“They told me you had a mouth.” 

“Yep. Born with it. Lips, tongue, and all. Oh, and would you look at that? You’ve got one too! Oh and look, everyone around-,”

“Shut up. I wouldn’t push the boundaries with me if I were you.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you mess with me, you mess directly with Sherlock Holmes. And more importantly, you try to mess around with Sherlock Holmes, you mess with me.” 

John was confused for a moment before remembering that a moment ago, he was practically drooling at the man with his jaw on the ground. 

“Oh, I see. So you and him…,”

“Yeah. And if you want to play that game with me it will not end well for you,” he said stepping forward and puffing his chest out a bit. Not backing off a bit, John decided to see just how far he could push this guy. He looked back and forth between him and Sherlock, who was turned slightly more towards them as if listening with one ear. Pulling his best confused face, he waited for the man’s inquiry. 

“What?”

“Nothing. No sorry. I was just trying to figure out how desperate he must have been to lower his standards enough for you.” 

The man took a step back, more furious than ever. As he rolled his right sleeve up as if preparing to punch, John fixed his stance in eager preparation for a fight. Unlike yesterday, he had equal footing this time and wasn’t outnumbered. The man raised his arm, but something behind John caught his eye and he stopped, relaxing his stance. Curious as to why he stopped, John turned and saw Sherlock’s intense gaze zeroed in directly on the man behind him. His expression was not a happy one. He cocked his head summoning the man, who gave John one last furious glare before joining the captain at the bow. 

He watched the two converse quietly, too far for him to hear. The man struggled to explain what had just happened before Sherlock cut him off with simply a raised hand. He then turned his icy gaze to John, who got the message quickly and picked his mop back up. 

*****

John mostly kept to his work the rest of the day. But that did not stop him from noticing the stocky, brown-haired man talking to the two thugs from yesterday. Nor did he fail to notice their collective scornful glares and whispers. With this, he thought it best to steer clear from anyone else for a while. 

That night, Sherlock came down to see John in the brig again. “What is it with you and your need to pick a fight with everyone you speak to on this ship?” Surprised at the lack of resentment in his tone, John looked up to see that he had been teasing. And with him, he had a bowl of soup. 

“Here to question me again?”

“No. Well, yes. But first I thought you’d like something to eat.” 

“Oh I see. So you were a bad cop yesterday and a good cop today, is that it?” John watched Sherlock take a deep breath, as if reminding himself to be patient. 

“Do you want it or not?” John chuckled and reached out through the bars. Sherlock handed off the disappointingly cold bowl with a satisfied smile. As John began to eat, he found himself wanting to ask about the man who was supposedly his lover, or…. Something. 

_No. It’s none of my business. There’s no reason to ask._  
But him? In a relationship? He just doesn’t seem the type.   
No. Why do I even care so much? Just eat and stay out of it.   
But… I’m curious. Yes, curious. That’s it. Completely objectively curious as to the relationship status of this man I only met yesterday. 

“So,” he started, working up the nerve to ask. “That man…,” he trailed off after seeing the expression on Sherlock’s face. His eyes were wide and practically bulging out of their sockets with an unnerving, mischievous gleam. His closed mouth was stretched in the most unsettling, predatory smile he had ever seen. “What…?” he began to ask. Sherlock’s bulging eyes darted down to his bowl of soup and back up to his face, and his smile widened even further.

With growing horror, John nearly dropped the bowl. “Did you DRUG ME?!” He dropped the bowl, spilling soup everywhere, and felt a wave of dizziness overcome him. Black spots danced before his eyes as he backed up into his cot.

“It would be best for you to lie down before you fall.”

“Bloody BASTARD!” John reluctantly lied down when his head was spinning too much to remain upright and slowly slipped out of consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

John awoke with a pounding headache. He recalled the events from last night all too quickly as panic overcame him. He looked down cautiously, unsure of what to find. He still had his clothes, on him and undisturbed. He was not harmed in any way. _So what did that crazy bastard do to me…_ Beside his bed was a large biscuit and a glass of water. _Yeah, to hell with that,_ he thought, and ignored it. 

But eventually, the painful, stabbing emptiness in his stomach was too much, and he knew he was severely dehydrated. If the madman wanted to drug him again, he would be more likely to do it tonight instead of directly again in the morning. He decided to take a chance that the biscuit and water were safe and downed them both in a matter of seconds. Within a minute of drinking the water, which had an odd sourness to it, his headache was nearly gone. He silently thanked and cursed the pirate at the same time. 

Greg Lestrade came pounding down the stairs and let him out. “Feeling alright?”

“What did he do to me?”

“Sorry, mate. I have no idea. He’s never had to use methods apart from intimidation and rudeness to get what he wants. So this is new for all of us.” 

_Get what he wants?_

This time when they reached the deck, Sherlock was there to greet him with a large, though entirely fake, smile.   
“Good morning.” 

“I swear I’m going to kill you.”

“Sleep well?”

“Bloody insane-”

“-gave you medicine, at least-”

“-wring your scrawny little neck-”

“Good, good… Today you’ll be training and working with our gunner. Mopping seemed ill-fitted for you, and I think it’s best that someone keeps an eye on you while you’re up here. Since you can’t stay out of trouble on your own. MOLLY!” he bellowed. 

The young girl he saw yesterday with the long, brown ponytail came swinging down on a rope from a high post. She landed flawlessly in front of Sherlock ready to take orders. 

“Molly, this is John. I’m sure you’ve heard of him by now. You will work with him today, show him what you do, and just… keep him busy.”

“Aye, Captain!” she exclaimed, way too peppy for this early in the morning. Turning towards John, she noticed Greg standing next to him. Her confident demeanor faltered a bit, and she gave him a shy smile before facing John. “Come on, John. I’ll show around,” she said with a cheery smile and led him off. 

Around them, everyone was at their assigned post. The two thugs were working the sails, Greg at the wheel, and Sherlock and the brown haired man conversing at the bow. 

“Ah, yes. I should probably tell you about all of us first. I know you met Jackson and Bolt when you got here.” She nodded at the thugs. Jackson being the blonde one with the ponytail, and Bolt apparently being the brunette. “They’re mostly just here to provide the bodily labor. They serve no other ‘intellectual purpose’ as Sherlock puts it.” She let out a chirpy laugh before continuing.

“And that’s … Lestrade at the wheel. Well, Greg. I mean, yeah. You can just call him Greg I’m sure. I know you’ve met him.” 

“Yeah, the only bloke who’s been halfway decent to me since I got here.”

She let out a nervous chuckle. “Yes, well… he’s a halfway decent guy, isn’t he? No, sorry! I just meant- I mean not that he isn’t…Anyway,” She shook her head at herself and moved on. 

“And that’s Sherlock, who you know, the captain. And that’s Victor next to him. His second-in-command.” 

“Oh yeah. Met him yesterday. He and Sherlock, aren’t they…?” Molly looked at him curiously, and John realized how his inquiry must have been interpreted. “No, I just meant, I heard something…” 

“It’s fine,” she replied with a cheeky, knowing grin that slightly irritated him. “Yeah, they were an item once. About a year ago. But it’s ended now, don’t worry.”

“Why would I be worried?”

“No reason,” she said with a grin. John hated to admit a part of him actually was relieved he and Victor were no longer together. _Why? What’s wrong with me?_

“Anyway, Sherlock took what he wanted from the poor guy and dumped him. I mean, I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. It is Sherlock after all. But Victor still has a thing for him, I suspect.”

“Right. Yeah, I was just wondering.” 

“Mmm hmm…” she said with that look on her face again. 

“Shut up,” he said. She giggled, and John realized it might actually be nice to have a friend on board. 

*****

Day in and day out, he continued to work with Molly on various tasks. Her main job as gunner was to keep track of all firearms on board. She showed John where the guns were kept, how to work the different models, and how to use the canon. When they weren’t working with firearms, she was showing him around the ship, doing random odd jobs or carrying out Sherlock’s requests. 

“He wasn’t always like that, you know.” John realized Molly was watching him stare at Sherlock while they worked, which he admittedly did quite a lot. 

“Yeah?” After the sixth time getting caught by her, John had given up on denying he was staring at Sherlock. 

“I don’t know the details. But apparently he watched his parents get gunned down by pirates when he was just a kid. Never recovered. Closed his heart off forever and gave up on loving again.” 

John was stunned into silence. He had never considered that someone like Sherlock actually had a history, and could have been hurt. His heart went out to the man, and he became even more intrigued about his past.

“Did you know him then?”

“No. Just word of mouth, you know.” 

“Right. So then, with Victor…?”

“I suspect it was just physical for him. But Victor let feelings get involved and that’s probably why Sherlock ended it.”   
“Uh huh. I never would have thought that he’d be, I don’t know,” he trailed off.

“Gay? I know. I had a thing for him once too. But gave up when I found out.” 

“You?!”

“Yeah, I know. But not anymore. That was years ago.” John didn’t miss how she turned to gaze sadly towards Greg manning the wheel masterfully. He took the opportunity to sneak another glance at Sherlock, but nearly jumped when he saw he was already looking at him from across the ship. Neither of them looked away. John ignored the little flip his stomach did and struggled to read the man’s expression. Apologetic? Sorrowful? Almost… longing? _No. Stop being stupid._

“But anyway,” Molly said, cheering herself up. They chatted mindlessly until night fell and John returned to the brig.

*****

Sherlock had stopped visiting him after the drugging incident, and John had never gotten an explanation. So it took him by surprise when Sherlock turned up this evening. Before he could even begin questioning, John decided to fess up.

“Hey listen, I think I should tell you. I don’t actually know anything about this Moriarty fellow, or-,” 

“I know,” Sherlock said, standing in front of his cell with his hands behind his back.

“Time for me to own up too. I miscalculated something major which resulted in me capturing the wrong ship and taking an innocent captive. My apologies, John.” 

So that’s why he hasn’t been coming to see me. “How did you figure that out?”

“The first night you were here I could hear you talking in your sleep.” John nodded. He knew he still suffered from nightmares from his time in Afghanistan. “I figured if I could drug you enough to reach maximum suggestibility, I could ask you questions. And in your state of drugged unconsciousness, you would have to answer honestly, as your responses would be taken directly from your subconscious.”

“And?”

“And…” Sherlock took his hat off and held it tightly, almost like a security blanket. “I soon realized that you really did know nothing. And that the drugs for some reason enhanced your nightmares. You were screaming and thrashing and… John, I’m so sorry.” 

John gazed intently at the man in front of him. He was fumbling with his hat in front of him and looking between him and the floor like a child who had been told by his mother to apologize. Yet, he seemed entirely, one hundred percent sincere. John’s heart went out to him. Before, his fondness of Sherlock had been more of an intriguing infatuation. A physical attraction with a bit of objective curiosity. But now, after what Molly had told him about his past and after seeing this side to him- this trembling, insecure, almost childlike human side- he felt something deeper stir inside him. Much deeper. 

Sherlock was still gazing at him timidly. His eyes widened and desperately begged for forgiveness. And if not forgiveness, then just something. Anything. John finally stopped staring and put the man out of his misery.  
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” When Sherlock didn’t meet his gaze, he got up and went to the cell door, as close as he could to him. “Sherlock. It’s fine. I don’t even remember a thing,” he chucked uneasily. Sherlock looked up, let out a relieved breath he had been holding, and smiled. A true, genuine smile that John had never seen before. And it was beautiful. 

“That’s, um, good.” John knew he had noticed the absence of a ‘captain,’ but at this moment, he didn’t care. At this moment. He wasn’t ‘Captain Sherlock’ or ‘the great pirate Sherlock Holmes.’ He was just Sherlock. 

As they locked eyes, John could actually feel the air electrify. He wondered if Sherlock could feel it too. John had been on this ship for several weeks. Weeks of short visits, sneaky glances, and desperate gazing from across the ship.   
As Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, the door burst open. Greg stumbled in panting. “Sherlock, Victor wants to see you up on deck." He allowed himself to gaze into John’s eyes a moment longer before reluctantly looking away and putting his hat back on.

“It’s Captain,” he grumbled to no one before hustling back upstairs.


	5. Chapter 5

The menacing clouds rolled in smoothly sweeping away every last bit of sunlight on the entire ship. The entire crew seized working and gazed upwards in collective silence. John and Molly exchanged concerned glances as the rest of the crew looked to Sherlock for guidance. 

Before a single order could be given, heavy, icy rain drops stormed down from the clouds. Almost simultaneously, the erratic waves began violently rocking the ship. Boxes, chests, and anything else not firmly tied down began shifting and toppling over. The booming crack of thunder vibrated through the whole ship. 

Sherlock finally snapped out of his trance and called out, his voice shaking slightly. “Jackson, Bolt, and Victor! Tie down the sails immediately! John and Molly, secure loose cargo! Lestrade, take us on!”

Everyone barked out a collective “Aye!” before running to their respective stations. John tried to shield his face from the forceful wind smacking the frigid rain in his face and get a look at Sherlock. He was up directing Greg who was pulling and yanking and the wheel with his whole body, attempting to navigate the thrashing waves. 

“John.” Molly touched his arm reminding him they had a job to do. They began gathering the discarded chests and items that had blown out of place and tying them down. The ship continued to lurch back and forth, often undoing their work. 

One half level up at the bow, Sherlock sprinted to one edge of the ship and bent over the edge, leaning so far overboard he would fall if moving an inch forward. He sprinted back and forth between sides bending over as far as possible, barking orders and updates at Greg, and then running to another location to look over the edge again.

_What the hell is he doing? He’s gonna- Oh!_ John’s heart stopped as the ship jerked to one side, lifting Sherlock’s feet high off the ground before slamming him back down to the floor. Apparently not learning his lesson, he leaned over the edge again. This time a violent wind knocked into him while the ship lurched sharply in the same direction. Sherlock legs flew overboard, leaving him hanging off the edge by his arms. 

“SHERLOCK!” John bellowed at the top of his lungs. But with the howling wind and ferocious waves, he could not even hear himself. Another aggressive wind smacked into Sherlock leaving him dangling above the water by one slipping hand. 

John dropped the cargo load he was carrying and dashed up to the bow. He saw Sherlock’s mouth desperately form his name as his grip slipped and he was hurdled into the raging water. Seeing as everyone else was busy at their stations, John left it to himself to take action. Greg and Molly took notice as he looped several meters of heavy-duty rope over his shoulder and across his body. 

“Oh my god,” Greg’s mouth formed as realized what happened. 

“No! You steer! I’ll take care of it!” John shouted. He knew Greg couldn’t hear him, but he seemed to understand and kept him death grip on the wheel. Victor, Jackson, and Bolt were now watching the events up at the bow as Molly rushed up to help John tie one end of the rope to a sturdy post near the ledge. Peering over the edge of the ship, John eyes desperately searched for any sign of Sherlock. But the turbulent ocean had completely swallowed him up. Molly made a motion to throw the remaining loops of rope overboard, but John stopped her. 

“No, he’s too far out! I’ll have to go.” He took the other end of the rope and tried tying around his waist, but his fingers had gone numb from the arctic rain. Molly quickly understood and helped him secure the knot. The rest of the crew watched with gaping mouths as John positioned himself on the edge of the ship and dove in. 

He plummeted past the ship’s several levels before smacking straight into the frigid cold water. The ocean violently tossed him around before he finally began to swim. The rope gave him plenty of slack as he wrestled the waves and called out Sherlock’s name. 

Eventually, in the distance, he saw a pale hand peek out of the water before disappearing again. John trudged through the water, the current both helping and hindering him in turns. Eventually he reached the spot where he saw the hand and plunged underwater. He didn’t have to look too long before a pair of long, skinny arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He kicked back up to the surface, and sure enough, Sherlock popped up with him, gasping and clinging to him for dear life. John wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s waist supporting him with his hip. 

Feeling a tug on the rope around his waist, he looked back to the ship to see Molly pulling the two of them in while Victor, Jackson, and Bolt uselessly watched. John clung tightly to Sherlock, who was shaking violently and nearly passed out, while they were pulled up into the air and back onto the ship. John pulled the rope off his waist and threw it back over the edge of the ship before collapsing onto the other man, panting and coughing out the remains of water in his throat. 

“Sherlock, look at me. Look at me.” He none too gently smacked the man’s cheek until he opened his eyes. Molly helped John lift the shivering man until he was heavily leaning on both of them in a sitting position. “Get him a blanket,” he ordered no one in particular. “Quickly. Now,” he said when no one made a move. After another moment, he looked up and directly at Victor. “DO IT!” Victor scrambled to the nearest room, Sherlock’s quarters, to get a blanket. 

Molly was attempting to rub some warmth into Sherlock’s back when he looked back down. Greg had steered them out of the worst parts of the storm. The wind had calmed down and a light, cold rain shower drizzled down on them.   
“Sherlock,” he said grabbing his face and looking into his eyes.

“Yes, John. I’m fine.” 

“Alright, good. 

“….”

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU DOING?!”

“Science, John. Your weak, feeble minds couldn’t even begin to comprehend.”

John was lost for words. So this madman of a pirate was not only into science (which he should have guessed after the drug incident,) but he was also a downright bloody idiot. John made eye contact with Molly who was wearing a facial expression that perfectly reflected his thoughts, and the two of them broke out into a shared, understood laughter.   
“What?” Sherlock demanded. At this, Greg joined in the laughter from the wheel. 

Victor returned with a yellow, fuzzy blanket and wedged himself between John and Sherlock. “Idiot! Why didn’t you get the blue one I like?” he spat. Nevertheless, he took the blanket and wrapped it close around himself rubbing his arms. Victor flinched back, clearly hurt at the petty comment. 

Once they were safely in clear waters and Greg could leave his post at the wheel, he came over to Sherlock, who was slightly warmer but still shaking. 

“We need to take him back to his room and warm him up properly,” he said. Greg put one of Sherlock’s arms around his shoulders and lifted him up. Before John could get the other side, Victor rushed in and grabbed his other arm.   
“He meant those of us who are actually part of the crew.” He and Greg hauled him down the mini flight of stairs and into the captain’s quarters. Jackson and Bolt followed, leaving John and Molly. 

“Actually, um, I better go too.” 

“Right, yeah.” She rested a hand on his shoulder and looked at him apologetically before entering Sherlock’s room. Everything she wanted to say was in that look. And John understood. With Sherlock out of commission, Victor was technically in charge. And there was no way he could enter that room without getting hell from him. It was fine. Right now Sherlock needed to be taken care of, and as long as that was happening, it didn’t matter if he was there or not.

_Bull shit. I’m the one who saved him._

John sat against a wall outside Sherlock’s room and waited. The sun finally peeked out from behind a cloud and helped dry him off a bit. He, too, was shivering, but he hadn’t been in the water nearly as long and could handle it. Inside, he could barely hear Victor fussing over Sherlock and barking obvious orders at everyone. And Sherlock, of course, being as difficult a patient as possible. John heard his name mentioned a few times, followed by some yelling and what sounded like protesting. 

He cupped his face in his hands. Why the hell had he just jumped into the ocean during a raging storm to save his captor’s life? He very well could have died.   
_You know why._  
No. It was nothing like that. It was just his soldier/ doctor instincts kicking in. Save the life.   
_So saving him was just like saving any other ordinary life?_  
Okay, fine. Yeah, he admired Sherlock. Quite a lot, actually. The guy had provided him with the adventure he missed. And he was a pretty fascinating bloke. No one can deny that.   
_Mmmm hmmm._  
Shut up.

The door to Sherlock’s room opened and Molly stepped out followed by a furious looking Victor holding a change of clothes. “John. Sherlock says he wants you moved from the brig to a nicer cabin.”


	6. Chapter 6

By evening, John had settled comfortably in Molly’s cabin, which she had excitedly offered to share. Seeing as there could only be two to a cabin, it made the most sense. Before, Victor and Greg shared, Jackson and Bolt shared, and Molly had bunked alone. 

It had been a few hours since John had saved Sherlock from drowning, and he still hadn’t been allowed to see him. Just as he was about to go demand to be included, Molly entered their cabin. “John, Sherlock wants to see you in the captain’s quarters.” Before John could ask, she cut him off. “Yes, he’s all warmed up and doing much better.”

Molly led him to the front door of Sherlock’s room before smiling at him and leaving. As he raised his hand to knock, he heard a familiar baritone voice say, “Come in, John.”

He slowly pushed the door open to see Sherlock in a plush armchair with a blue blanket wrapped snugly around his body. His feet were in a bucket of what seemed to be steaming hot water. His black curls, sticking up in all directions, were still damp and seemed to have been tousled roughly with a towel. The sight was almost humorous. John had never seen Sherlock outside of his pirate captain attire, confident and firm. Here in front of him now, he looked almost childlike. 

“Have a seat, John,” he said, motioning to the armchair opposite him. He walked over to the chair looking around the room. Sherlock’s room. The bed was large and much nicer than those in the cabins. The condition of his furniture was roughly the same though. Old wood with broken pieces, dents, and scratches. The maroon walls were chipped and fading, giving the room a rustic but almost cozy feel. And in front of the two armchairs was a roaring fire illuminating the place in a delicate, orange glow. 

John sat and waited, but all he got for several moments was a prolonged stare. “I, um, wanted to… That thing that you did when I fell, that was um, good.”

“Is this you trying to say ‘thank you?’”

He sighed. “Thank you, John.” 

“You’re welcome.” Another prolonged stare. After several moments of unbroken eye contact, John clamped his hands on his knees as if to rise from the chair.

“Is that it then?” 

“No, John. Um, also… I apologize for my mistreatment of you. And for taking you from your friends. And any inconvenience and hurt I may have caused you.”

“It’s fine. I’m not missing out on anything back home. A dull life that was. At least being here has been interesting.”

“That’s good. Cause, um. What I wanted to ask was… Maybe, if you want, you could… stay here? With me. Not as a prisoner. As a member of this crew.” 

John stared in shock as the other man’s face scrunched up in anticipation of rejection. He thought for a moment. He had nothing back home. No friends, no family. Not even a place to live. He wouldn’t really be giving anything up by staying here. Plus, being on this ship has been the most exhilarating adventure he had ever had. 

“Sherlock. I’d love to.” Sherlock let out a breath of relief and smiled. Another true, genuine smile. Beautiful. They sat by the fire together in content silence for a minute before John realized he was probably intruding and should let Sherlock sleep. “I should let you get some rest then.” 

He rose from the chair and picked up Sherlock’s hat from his desk before going back and standing between Sherlock’s knees. He placed the hat on Sherlock’s head and pushed his damp curls off his forehead. “Goodnight, Captain,” he said with a smile, and left. 

By morning the news that John was now part of the crew had somehow already traveled. When John met Molly up on deck at their usual spot, she practically tackled him in a hug. “You’re staying?! John, that’s wonderful! Oh, I’m so happy!” A hand clamped on his shoulder and Molly released her death grip on his torso. John turned so see Greg smiling down at him. 

“Welcome to the crew, mate.” Glancing over Greg’s shoulder, John glimpsed Victor staring daggers at him. He began to wonder if that’s how the news spread. It only happened last night, and John and Sherlock hadn’t told anyone, so how did the entire crew find out? If Victor knew, he would have told Jackson and Bolt. Greg, being his roommate, would have been sure to overhear something and would have in turn told Molly. It was the only thing that made sense. But how could Victor possibly know unless… No. 

John pictured Victor peering at him and Sherlock through a window or listening at the door during his visit last night. He remembered every drawn-out stare they shared. And, oh god, how John had pushed Sherlock’s curls out of his face before leaving. The thought of Victor witnessing all that sent shivers down his spine and a nervous tightening in his stomach. It’s the only explanation for why Victor would be glaring at his with that much contempt in his face.   
He decided to ignore Victor and enjoy the day with Greg and Molly. 

*****

In the afternoon, John noticed they were approaching a small ship in the distance. The crew seemed to be buzzing with more energy today than usual. “Molly, what’s going on? Why are we sailing towards that ship?”

“It’s an attack, John. We _are_ pirates.”

“What?! What for?”

Molly shrugged. “Sherlock has his reasons. We just follow orders.” John huffed angrily and stormed up to Sherlock.

“Sherlock, what is this? Why are you about to attack an innocent ship?”

“The same reason I ambushed your cruise ship, John. I feel they possess information useful to me and my agenda. And as a pirate, I wish to claim it.”

“What? What agenda? Sherlock, this is unacceptable.” 

“Hush, John.” Sherlock brushed past him and strode up to Greg. “Sail onwards, Lestrade.”

“Aye.”

John realized he really hadn’t thought through his decision last night. These were pirates! And being part of the crew meant he would have to partake in this. No. No one could make him harm innocent lives if he didn’t want to.   
He jogged to keep up with Sherlock who was bustling around giving orders and only half paying attention to him. 

“Sherlock, whatever you’re doing, whatever this plan of yours is, it’s not worth taking innocent lives. You’re better than this.”

“Who said anything about taking lives? I’m simply going to take what I need from them, and if they seem to possess valuables, rob them of everything they own that could prove to be of use to me.” 

“And are you planning to take captives, too? Take an innocent person who knows nothing your agenda and rob them of their entire life?”

Sherlock halted, causing John to almost knock into him from behind. Looking him dead in the eye, he said, “Is that what you feel I did, John? Rob you of your entire life? Because last I checked, you willingly joined this crew glad to be rid of any so-called life you may have had before. Now are you going to contribute to this ambush with the rest of us or not?” 

The corner of John’s mouth lifted slightly as he shook his head furiously. “Just when I thought you were more than just a cold hearted, inhuman machine of a pirate.” 

With that, he stomped off to his cabin where he planned to stay until this was over. He sat on his bunk and buried his face in his hands. Joining the crew had been a mistake. How could he have been so _stupid?!_ He knew they were pirates. He knew this was what they did. What did he think? That suddenly after he joined they would renounce pirating and they would blissfully sail the seas together as one happy family? Stupid. 

*****

Back on deck, Sherlock stood staring out into the direction John had stormed off, his parting words still ringing in his ears. Victor rushed up to him and grabbed his arm. “Sherlock, we have an update. There may have been another miscalculation. This ship actually doesn’t have any information useful to us and has had no affiliation with Moriarty in any of its records.”

Sherlock turned his head to look at his second-in-command. “Sherlock. What do we do?” When he got no reply, he continued, “Shall we commence looting anyway? They might have valuables. And we haven’t pirated a single ship since John’s… Sherlock?” He noticed the rest of the crew was looking at him excitedly, waiting for permission to chase the ship down and loot. 

“No.” 

“Sorry, what?” 

“No. If they don’t have anything we need, we will leave them alone. Lestrade, change route.” The entire crew as well as Greg stood frozen in confusion at this change of procedure. “Now.”

“Aye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me you what you think! I'd appreciate any constructive feedback :)


	7. Chapter 7

John had made up his mind. Tomorrow he will tell Sherlock he made a mistake and wishes to leave. He could go back to being a prisoner or take a life boat and sail himself to land somewhere. Anything but staying on this ship as a crew member. Sherlock had made it clear he was no longer a captive, but John felt anything but free. He did not belong here. 

Molly came down and knocked gently before entering their cabin.  
“John, you alright?”  
“Yeah, fine.” 

“Sherlock wants to see you in his room.” 

“Alright.” After she left, John simply rolled over in his bunk and closed his eyes with no intention of going to see Sherlock. 

*****

After a few hours passed, John decided the ambush must be over by now, and he should probably help out on deck for the remainder of the day. Upon arriving on deck, he was surprised to see everyone making their rounds as usual. He looked around for Molly but found that she was up at the wheel conversing lightly with Greg. It was hardly in good taste to interrupt, so he took up his old prison job: mop and bucket. 

He started at the end of the ship furthest away from Sherlock, whose eyes he could feel fixated on his back. He pointedly avoided eye contact with the pirate, knowing he had probably spent quite some time in his room waiting for him to show up. A few times he noticed Sherlock making his way towards him. At this, he deliberately mopped in the opposite direction, still refusing to even look at him. 

*****

From the moment John left, Sherlock had wanted to call off the attack and go after him. But he thought it best to let the man cool off. After waiting an hour or so, he sent Molly to fetch John so he could tell him he called it off. He waited in his room for a minute, five minutes, ten minutes. While sitting in the same armchair as he had when John came the last night, he peered over at the empty one across from him. 

Twenty minutes, half an hour, one hour. 

Sherlock looked down and his hands in his lap. John was so deeply disappointed in him that he wasn't coming. John's anger, he could deal with. John yelling at him was fine. It was the profound disappointment in John's eyes when he called him an 'inhuman machine' that cut to his core and left a throbbing ache in his chest. 

Now, Sherlock stood at the tip of the bow with his hands behind his back watching John mop from across the ship. He longed to explain and make things right with him again, but every time he made a move in his direction, the other man countered. After a few rounds of this silent dance, Sherlock backed off and contented himself with watching John from a distance. 

*****

As dusk fell, the pale, white sky transformed into a deep royal blue. The sun tucked itself away behind the horizon leaving a refreshing, brisk breeze in its place. The crew members packed up for the night and retreated to other areas of the ship for a recreational evening. Jackson, Bolt, and Victor all disappeared somewhere, and Molly and Greg walked off to a lower level of the ship together. As they passed him, Molly snuck a glance at John and gave him an excited smile. He grinned back, genuinely happy for his friend. 

He lingered for a moment when only he and Sherlock remained on deck. After a full day of working alone and thinking to himself, he concluded that there never was any attack. Sherlock must have called off the order or something. He felt a slight pang for not giving him a chance and meeting him in his room to explain, but part of his disappointment remained. He needed confirmation, and he felt he owed the man at least a chance at explaining himself before deciding whether or not to ditch the crew. 

Leaning on the edge of the ship, he looked out into the deep, indigo water, calm as he had ever seen it. He heard light, cautious footsteps approach, and in a moment, Sherlock was next to him gazing at the vast ocean ahead of them. Neither of them spoke or moved for several minutes, before Sherlock decided to break the silence. 

"So how was your first day?" John chuckled. He could almost hear Sherlock regretting his choice of a conversation starter.

"Not what I expected." Another minute passed with the two of them watching the still water in silence.

"I called off the attack."

"I know." Sherlock breathed out a slight sigh of relief. It was nearly silent, but John heard and felt another wave of guilt for his cruel rejection. Although he knew he owed the man an apology for his little outburst, the words stuck in his throat. 

He suddenly became aware of their hands on the ledge of the ship. Sherlock was standing upright with both hands placed gently on the ledge, and John was leaning slightly with his wrists crossed over it. If he just moved his hand ever so slightly, he could... No. He settled for scooting an inch towards Sherlock as subtly as he could. 

"So, what is it that you're looking for on the ships you track?" Sherlock's eyes darted momentarily towards him before returning to the ocean.

"I suppose, now that you are one of us, you have a right to know." He paused a moment as if gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Jim Moriarty. The most dangerous pirate mastermind the seas have ever seen. His attacks follow a very distinct pattern, which I've been tracking for several years now. When I find a ship that fits, I take it. My crew searches for any hints, any traces of Moriarty. He leaves clues, you see. It's almost as if he wants me to find him. It's this sort of cruel game he plays. When I get what I need, my crew loots, and I take captives for questioning if absolutely necessary."

"All with the intention of tracing the pattern back to Moriarty himself?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, sometimes I do make mistakes that result in the attack of an innocent ship or innocent captive, as is the case with yourself. I was very, very close to catching up to him. But mistaking your cruise boat for another set me back several steps. Victor and I are currently attempting to work around this setback and get back on track."

"So you want to track down Moriarty to... do what?"

"Stop him."

"Why? You're both pirates. You do the same thing."

"Yes." John could tell from Sherlock's tone and demeanor that he was not willing to talk further, so he dropped it.

"I'm really proud of you for calling it off Sherlock. Truly." He inched his hand towards Sherlock's, and Sherlock definitely noticed.

"Yes, well. They didn't have what I needed anyway, so it would have been a pointless endeavor."

"But you could have looted. Taken their valuables. And you didn't. I know you have a great heart underneath all that, Sherlock. I could see it from the start."

John slid his hand over further so their fingertips barely grazed one another. Sherlock looked directly at their hands and then up at John. He had the most focused, intense gaze John and ever seen, and it was zeroed in directly onto him. With his pale skin, upturned coat collar, and dark curls delicately falling onto his forehead, he looked absolutely breathtaking. Shining against the midnight blue sky, the bright moon cast its delicate light down so Sherlock was almost glowing. 

John stepped closer and fully took Sherlock's hand in his own. The man's intense gaze bore down directly into his eyes once more, as if trying to read him. He didn't flinch away or take his hand in return. He just remained still. With the air around them electrified, John's heart began to pound in his stomach.

Without thinking twice, he moved in and gently brushed his lips against Sherlock's. It was tentative and shy, as if testing the waters. Sherlock's lips were much softer and warmer than he expected. The other man didn't move or react, just stood there frozen, as if a single movement could shatter this entire moment. John lingered for a moment, their lips barely touching, before he came to his senses and pulled back apologetically. 

_What the hell was he thinking?!_ Panic and dread rose in his chest before opening his mouth to try to back out of what he had just done. 

"Look, um-" 

He didn't get much further before Sherlock lunged forward, grabbed John's face and pressed their mouths back together. Sherlock's warm lips completely enveloped his as the kiss deepened. John's entire body froze from shock. He stood still as one of Sherlock's hands ran tenderly through his short, blonde hair and the other wrapped around his waist pulling his body in completely against his. John finally melted into the embrace, reaching his arms up and weaving them into Sherlock's curls. 

John's kiss had been chaste and subtle. This was passionate. Everything they had been holding back these past several weeks, every pining glance, every unspoken word, exploded into this moment. They gripped each other's heads as if their lives depended on it and kissed fiercely for what felt like an eternity. 

When they broke apart to breathe several minutes later, John looked up at Sherlock. His hair was mussed up and his pale face flushed. His pupils were blown wide and staring intensely down into John's eyes. The intensity and hunger in his expression filled John's stomach with wooziness and made his head spin. 

But when he opened his mouth, he was soft and vulnerable again. "John," he breathed almost silently gazing down at him almost desperately. John remained cupping Sherlock's face tenderly before the world around them came crashing back into reality.

Hearty laughter erupted from the floors beneath them as they heard Greg and Molly chatting cordially once more. Heavy footsteps vibrated through the ship as the other men wandered the halls below. The sounds of other life on the ship reminded Sherlock and John of what they certainly should not be doing so openly on the deck. 

Sherlock gestured up to his room. "Um, I should-"

"Yeah." 

"It's just-"

"I know. It's fine."

"...."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight." 

*****

Back in his room, John laid on his bed staring up at the ceiling. He knew Molly would likely be out later than him, so he had plenty of time to think. _WHAT. WAS. THAT._ He had just kissed Sherlock Holmes. And Sherlock Holmes had kissed him back, hard. His heart was still racing, and he had not yet caught his breath. Running a hand through his already mussed up hair, he let out a content chuckle knowing that his feelings had not been one sided. 

He rolled over and closed his eyes, enjoying the taste of Sherlock still lingering on his lips. 

*****

Sherlock paced his room aggressively, hands tugging roughly at his hair. Stupid. _Stupid_ , he thought. John had shown a glimpse of vulnerability and he dove right in and took advantage of it. John didn't return his feelings. He probably didn't even think before initiating their first kiss. That's probably what he was trying to tell him before Sherlock cut him off. That it was a mistake. 

John would surely regret this tomorrow. Probably already did. _Stupid._ This is what he got for letting someone into his heart again. Caring was not an advantage. Sherlock flopped down onto his bed, dreading the morning when he would have to face John's rejection. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've every written something romantic like this! It was quite fun ;) Please, please comment with your feedback!


	8. Chapter 8

When John awoke from one of the best sleeps he had had in a long while, the events from the previous night came crashing back into his memory. With a content smile, he burrowed himself further into the sheets, warm , comfortable, and with no intention of rising. Of course, Molly's loud, morning enthusiasm nearly forced him out of bed within ten minutes. 

He made a bit of an extra effort today as he prepared himself to arrive on deck- smoothing out his shirt, running a hand through his hair, and whatnot. He would have done more, but Molly's cheeky glances pushed him to give up and leave to avoid her inevitable teasing. Speaking of, he wondered what happened between her and Greg last night. He didn't remember hearing her return to their cabin before he fell asleep, but she definitely spent the night here. So they just must have spent a late night "out" together. He made a mental note to ask her about it later, and headed up to the deck. 

Upon arriving, he was immediately greeted by two familiar, large hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him slightly aside. 

"John."

"Morning, Sherlock."

"John, I just thought. Last night. You should know that, um. I understand. It's fine. I can just forget it ever happened, and we never have to speak of it again." 

John stared up at the big, beautiful idiot in wonder and let him babble on. The poor man looked like he hadn't slept a wink, in contrast to John's deep, happy slumber. His hair appeared to have been roughly handled and his eyes were bloodshot red. 

He eventually took pity on the poor, stuttering man and cut him off with a chaste, tender kiss. This, of course, shut him up right away.

"Sherlock. You don't have to forget about a thing," he said running a hand through his curls and cupping his face. After a moment, the two of them smiled and broke out into a fit of childlike giggles. 

Molly made her way over to John to begin their day's work together, but stopped in her tracks upon seeing the two giggling men staring at each other, lost in their own world. Looking past Sherlock's shoulder, John caught her eye. Putting her hands behind her back, she slowly backed away from them, and with a cheeky smile, turned to go chat with Greg at the wheel.

John's gaze followed her momentarily. He did worry slightly of the gossip that was inevitably about to travel through the whole ship, but decided in a moment that he did not care. He was with Sherlock now and that's all that mattered. As he began to redirect his gaze back to Sherlock, his eyes skimmed past Victor. Standing slightly behind and to the left of Sherlock, teeth on edge, zeroing a red hot, murderous glare directly in on him. 

Throughout the rest of the blissful day, John tried to ignore Victor and just be happy with Sherlock, but he could not ignore the sight of him, Jackson, and Bolt muttering secretively in a corner shooting fuming glances at the two of them. 

*****

In the later afternoon, Sherlock returned to his duties as captain, and Molly returned to her shift with John, who braced himself for her merciless teasing. 

_Three... two.... one..._

"Sooooo...."

"Yes, Molly?"

"What's new with you?"  
John simply stared at her, refusing to give in so quickly.

"Nothing? No new stories for me? No fights, drama, gossip... new boyfriends..."

"Excuse me, I could ask the same question about you, Molly Hooper!"  
She was stunned into silence at John's turning of the tables. 

"I never... Greg and I...." She stuttered, desperate to back out of this conversation.

"Intersting, I never said anything about Greg."

"Oh, shut up!" She playfully slapped his arm and turned away shyly as John smirked at her. However, it wasn't long before Molly exploded from excitement and launched into the tale of her evening spent with Greg. John listened patiently to her recounting of walks on the balcony, endless flirting, and laughing together by a cozy fireplace well into the night. He was surprised to hear that she never even got her first kiss with him. He was positive it was heading in that direction. In fact, Molly seemed unsure of whether their little evening was a 'date' of sorts or if Greg saw it as just two friends hanging out on off duty hours. 

He felt sort of bad for her. The poor girl at least deserved to know if the man returned her feelings or not. He watched with pity as she talked through her concerns with him, wringing her wrists and stumbling over her words, desperate to know if Greg felt the same for her or if she was delusional. 

His heart went out to her. She was describing exactly how he felt about Sherlock during his first few weeks pining over him. Except in his case, he didn't have a fun, flirtatious evening to ease his fears. He only had angst and tension until last night. 

As he listened, he looked past her for a moment as an odd sight caught his eye. Up on the bow, Victor was shouting viciously at Sherlock, who flinched multiple times at the verbal abuse. He was too far to hear what the argument was about, but Sherlock looked so hurt and defenseless, he knew there were very few topics that could weaken him like that. 

He prepared himself to march up to the bow and give Victor a good piece of his mind, but stopped when he saw Jackson and Bolt off the to edge, staring him down, almost challenging him to go stop Victor. John thought back though the whole day. The two thugs had seemed to be watching him like a brooding vulture waiting to dive in for its meal the whole day. They even seemed to be, who knows, waiting for something. Waiting for something from Victor, no doubt. The thought turned John's stomach. He didn't know what they were up to, but he wanted no part of it. 

*****

That night, after night had fallen and the ship was silent, John cautiously tapped on the door to Sherlock's room. He slowly pushed the door open, peeking his head inside. 

"Sherlock?" The man was standing on the other side of the room, looking out the window. He turned upon hearing John's voice and welcomed him in.

"Oh, John. Hello."

John closed the door behind him and entered. "Just wanted check on you." No response. "You okay?" Silence. "What happened up there today? With you and Victor?"

"It was nothing, John. It was just about our tentative game plan and where to go from here, as we are sort of at a dead end. And of course, he was not particularly thrilled at the fact that I called off three more potential ambushes today. 

John only had to look at Sherlock's soft, hurt face to know why he had called them off. He may have developed more of a moral compass since John had shown his disapproval, but he could see that this was eating the man up inside. He decided to dive in and ask the one question that had been bothering him the most.

"Why do you care so much about finding Moriarty? I mean, what's the deal with this guy?" Sherlock looked at the ground and replied quietly, almost as a whisper.

"We go back a long way." He sat on the edge of his bed, clearly debating whether or not to share his tale. John slowly lowered himself onto the bed to sit next to him.

"I'll listen."

Several long moments of Sherlock staring into his hands, taking deep breaths, and swallowing, he began.

"As a child, I was always fascinated by ships. Pirate ships, luxury ships, military cruisers, anything. I loved them. I would even pretend to be a pirate, the adventure, the danger, all of it. I found it fascinating. My older brother Mycroft was the only one who condoned this fantasy of mine. Come to think of it, he was the closest thing I had to a friend growing up. Of course, the same couldn't be said about today. We've grown apart, you see... Anyway..." Another deep breath.

"My family was quite well off growing up. Both my parents held impressive government positions and were widely known for their philanthropic and charitable work throughout the whole country. Mycroft and I lived with them and a large number of staff members and servants in our mansion." John grinned slightly at the prospect of Sherlock being a child once, but stopped when he caught Sherlock's expression. The man was still staring down at his hands in his lap, but this tale was clearly not one he was thrilled to be retelling.

"When I was fifteen, my family went out for a week on our cruise boat. Mycroft and I both groaned at our parents' need for a vacation. But the thought it would do us well to get away, so we were dragged along. On our fourth day out at sea, we were ambushed by a pirate ship, led by the infamous pirate lord James Moriarty. Mycroft and I watched as our parents were brutally shot and killed when they realized we brought minimal valuables with us on board. 

We returned home as a broken family. Just the two of us alone. I closed myself off, refusing to accept any help from anyone except my brother. I wouldn't talk to any of the therapists or government officials that pathetically attempted to ease our pain. Just him. Of course, he was to leave home in a month to begin his new job in the government. Right before he left, he encouraged me to let go and move on, like him. I was appalled at his proposition. A month after our parents' deaths and he was already moving out and starting new life, leaving me completely alone and telling me to move on. I shut him out too as he left. And never quite forgave him. After that I was alone in the house. I had no one."

Sherlock drew in a shaky breath. John's hand had been covering his mouth throughout the tale, too horrified to speak or even breathe. Two tears slowly trickled down Sherlock's nose and fell into his hands. Unable to find his voice, John reached out and touched the other man's hand, letting him know he could continue at his own pace, or stop entirely if wished. 

Sherlock gathered himself, let out a few more silent sobs, and continued. 

"I grew up and finished school on my own, hardly ever seeing my brother or any extended family for that matter. But I never forgot Jim Moriarty's name. It lingered in the forefront of my mind for years until I was old enough to pursue my own ambitions. I made it my life mission to find the man who murdered my parents, rob him of every valuable he owns, kill him, and leave the rest of his crew stranded with nothing to rot." 

Whereas in the first part of his tale, Sherlock had been quiet, shaky, and hesitant, his voice was now firm, confident, and more determined than John had ever heard it. His heart shattered at the sight of him. So broken and hurt, yet also determined, angry, and vengeful.

He turned Sherlock's face towards him and lightly kissed his tears away on both cheeks. He pressed their foreheads together and tried to find his voice. He so longed to tell him how sorry he was for his tragic past. How much of a jerk he felt like for assuming he had selfish motives for his actions. How much he regrets calling him a machine and how much he wishes he could swallow those words back up and replace them with love and kindness. How unaware he was of Sherlock's past and how sorry he was for every misinformed thought he had about him. How much he wishes he could erase his pain and fill him up with love, security, and the warmth of companionship. 

He opened his mouth, but Sherlock cut him off. "It's okay, John. You don't need to speak." Sherlock didn't want to be comforted right now. He was hurting and did not wish to discuss this any further. But he wasn't pushing John away either, who was still pressed to his forehead and holding both his hands, which meant he craved company and security. 

So John settled for scooting them both back to the headboard of the bed and pulling Sherlock into his chest, burying his face in the curls on top of his head. He stroked his arms and whispered soft, comforting words into his ear. When the taller man had fallen asleep, John laid him down, pulled the blankets up to his neck, and retired to his own cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh sorry that took so long!! Hopefully my updates will be a bit more regular from now on, but can't make promises :)
> 
> Please leave a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again I took so long to update! I'll try to be more regular, but can't make promises :/ I'm starting college in a week so might be busy. All the same, I'll try my best to keep up with this until it's done!
> 
> Feel free to drop a comment :)

The entire next day, John could barely focus on his work. The only thing on his mind was looking forward to meeting Sherlock in his room in the evening. So when night fell and everyone retired to their cabins or a recreational area, John weaseled out of a chat with Molly and snuck over to the captain’s quarters.

He raised his fist, knocked, and waited. No reply. He knocked again. Nothing. He put his ear to the door, but couldn't hear the normal noises of Sherlock bustling around his room. Pushing the door slightly open, he peered inside. When he still didn't get a response, he pushed it open all the way. Sherlock was gone. 

John wasn't too worried. Perhaps he was dealing with something important and would come back later. He started to head back to his cabin when he heard several hushed voices coming from further down the hall. Following them, against his better judgment, he located the closed off area they were coming from. Pressing his ear to the door, he tried to make out the muffled sounds but it was no use. 

He walked up and down the area until he found a small opening through a side door leading into the same area. He knew he had no business there but curiosity got the better of him. Especially when he heard Sherlock's voice, easily distinguishable among the other muffled sounds. 

"As I've said before, I have no interest in-"

"Dammit, Sherlock! We don't care! This is the final straw! You've called off seven ambushed in just the past week alone. With no reason. We’ve all noticed this sudden change in your judgement. We demand to know what the hell has gotten into you." John recognized this as Victor's voice. 

"I am under no obligation to-"

"I know what this is about. It's that new cabin boy isn't it?" The other men murmured in agreement. He assumed it was Jackson and Bolt. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

"You've grown rather attached to him, eh?” Victor asked tauntingly.

"I.."

"I knew it. He's changed you, Sherlock. Whether you want to admit it or not. You've got a soft spot for him, and we won't stand for it."

"Don't be absurd!"

"Will you or will you not be continuing with your plans for catching Moriarty? Or is lover boy all you care about now?"

John heart raced as he kept his ear pressed to the side door. His stomach was in a knot, and he definitely noticed how Sherlock did not correct them calling him lover boy. 

There was a heated silence as they all waited for his reply. After several moments, he very quietly said, "No." 

He was overwhelmed with pride in Sherlock for renouncing his plans for vengeance, but also terrified for him. He waited for the men to react, presumably with rage and violence. However, all he heard was a very calm, "Alright, then," as chairs scooted back and everyone stood to leave. He tucked himself into the dark corner as much as possible to avoid being seen as Jackson and Bolt exited the room. Sherlock and Victor followed. Before parting ways, he observed them exchanging a very knowing look. Victor’s expression stone-faced and frustrated, Sherlock's calm and challenging. 

Even when they had all left, John remained tucked in his corner, his chest heaving as he tried to work out what just happened. What the hell had he just heard? What was the crew going to do now that Sherlock had no plan or objective to lead them on? They surely didn't seem too pleased about it. Even at the end, their suspiciously calm response still gave off a spiteful vibe. And they had called him lover boy, too. He knew most of the crew by now had at least inferred that they were more than friends, but to hear them explicitly state it left John feeling very uneasy. 

*****

On deck the next morning, John attempted to casually ask Sherlock where he was last night, perhaps sounding too casual. He suspiciously squinted down at him for a moment before looking away, his expression changing to sad and guilty. "Busy," was all John got out of him. Sherlock left him and stood up at the bow with Greg, purposefully facing away from John. 

Molly joined him after a few moments, chatty and happy as usual. He avoided engaging in conversation with her as much as possible, adding in the occasional "Oh yeah?' or "neat" to her stories when it felt appropriate. But his mind was only on Sherlock avoiding him, and by extension, hiding things from him. 

To take his mind off of Sherlock he tried listening to Molly's recount of her evening with Greg. Yet, he eventually tuned her out and looked around the ship. Sherlock was still up on the bow with Greg, facing away from him and everyone else. Molly was with him. And Victor, Jackson, and Bolt were off to the side. He tried to tune into their conversation as subtly as possible, which apparently wasn't subtle enough. Looking over Jackson's shoulder, Victor noticed immediately when John began listening to them, and ushered them all away. 

This intrigued John. What were they talking about that needed to be so secret, and away from everyone else? And why did it bother Victor so much when John just barely noticed them? He tried to keep to his work the rest of the day, ignoring the three of them. Regardless of his efforts, he couldn't help but notice how strange they were acting, even hours later. He told himself to stop being paranoid and drop it. With this, he tuned back into Molly, who was still talking to him.

*****  
That night, John and Sherlock laid together in bed, Sherlock’s head on John’s chest, his soft curls being stroked lazily. John had decided not to bring up the previous night again. If Sherlock wanted to tell him, trusted him enough to tell him, he would do it on his own. Luckily for him, he did. 

“I decided to drop the plans regarding Moriarty and avenging my family’s deaths,” Sherlock mumbled into John’s chest. 

“Oh, yeah?” He tried not to sound too shocked. That would be a dead giveaway. “I’m proud of you.” He could feel Sherlock grin, even without seeing him. “What brought this on?” he prompted, hoping he would tell him about last night.

“I just thought about it and… felt it was best.” John tried not to feel disappointed that he didn’t trust him enough to tell him what all was going on. Whatever that meeting was last night was obviously none of his business, and not in his place to ask.

“Well, I’m glad you did. You’re doing the right thing.” Sherlock looked up at John with big eyes, the usual protective shields completely absent from them. The softness in his face completely melted John’s heart, and he showed it with a warm smile. 

“John?” he nearly whispered, not breaking the eye contact.

“Yes, love?”

“Would you like to stay?” Again, just barely a whisper. If John hadn’t been listening for it, he wouldn’t have heard. Nonetheless, his heart leapt at the invitation to spend the night with Sherlock for the first time. 

“I’d love to.”


	10. Chapter 10

“How many times have I told you? It’s more convenient short cropped and neat.”

“Yes, but I always liked it better when you go without a cut for a while, and it begins to fall on your forehead like this. It’s more wild and spontaneous”

“Yeah, it’s bloody annoying is what it is. John, what do you think?”

He smiled at Greg and Molly’s little squabble over his hairdo as Molly dragged her fingers fondly through the graying hair, slightly longer than usual. “I think he’s a handsome stud either way,” John responded with an over exaggerated wink. Greg chuckled as Molly teased, “Well I think it’s safe to say he’s on my side. We all know John prefers longer hair. Particularly dark, ravenous, curly hair, black as midnight, lush as-“ 

“Yeah, yeah. Alright,” he interrupted, rolling his eyes. Greg and Molly broke out into a shared laughter once more, and he scowled to keep himself from joining in. He scanned the deck and found Sherlock, standing with his hands behind his back and staring fondly back at him. He seemed to be suppressing laughter as well, revealing that he most likely overheard their conversation. 

They shared a warm, knowing smile. Last night, they had spent their first night together, and it was wonderful. They had familiarized themselves with each other’s touches, took their time making love, softly, gently. Afterwards, Sherlock had wept a little with the beauty of it, and John had simply held him. They drifted off together warm and content in each other’s arms and woke up just the same. 

Remembering this, their smiles grew wider. It was rare for John to see Sherlock smile like this. The lines of his face cutting deep, the wrinkles reaching his eyes, which glistened with glee. While trying to memorize his smile, he vowed to do his best to make it reappear as often as possible. 

Suddenly, the deafening crack of gunshots pierced the air. One. Two. Three of them. He and Sherlock broke eye contact as their heads snapped to find the source. Jackson and Bolt seemed to respond to the gunshots as a signal, taking out black bandanas and tying them around their heads, guns aiming at the other crew members in threat. John frantically looked back to Sherlock for direction, only to find him looking elsewhere. He followed his gaze and saw Victor, staring defiantly right back at Sherlock as he took out a matching black bandana and tied it around his head.

Victor, Jackson, and Bolt, now clearly marked as enemies, proceeded to ambush their own ship. Sherlock yelled over the shots for John, Molly, and Greg to run. Greg pulled Molly’s arm as they ducked for cover and ran together. John’s eyes lingered on Sherlock for a moment. After he screamed at him to leave him and run again, with much more ferocity this time, he obeyed. 

The three of them were chased down several levels by Jackson and Bolt. Although his own life was in danger, John’s only thought was on Sherlock. He had told him to run, and there had been nothing in his eyes that suggested the possibility of that being the last time they’d see each other. Sherlock meant to survive this. And currently, he and Victor were alone on deck. Sherlock could handle himself against Victor. Right now, he just had to focus on himself, Greg, and Molly escaping from Jackson and Bolt. 

Gunshots rang out, and John instinctively ducked. However, Molly’s blood-curdling scream of pain halted him in his tracks and made him turn. She laid on the ground with a death grip on her shin, a pool of dark blood expanding around her. Greg knelt by her, trying to lift her under her arms as she shook with panicked sobs. John began to make his way back to them to help, but stopped when he saw Jackson and Bolt turn a corner running towards them. 

He and Greg both realized that they were making no attempt to slow down or stop where Greg and Molly were. Their gaze was fixed past them, directly on John. He realized they didn’t care about Greg or Molly. They only wanted him. Greg realized this too. “Go. GO!” 

It tore at John’s insides to repress his instincts as a doctor and leave them. “Use your jacket,” he spilled as quickly as he could as Jackson and Bolt approached nearer and nearer. “Keep pressure on the wound. No matter what. Just stop the blood flow and keep her breathing evenly.”

“Alright,” Greg said removing his jacket. “Just GO!!”

John turned and sprinted as fast as his legs would take him. Jackson and Bolt had gained a frightening lead while he had stopped for Molly. They were also younger and faster than him. They would catch up eventually, but John planned to keep them running as long as possible. If it wasn’t for the adrenaline, he would have been long burned out, but he kept pushing. 

He turned several corners and flew down many flights of stairs, hoping to throw them off, but they kept right on his tail. He was now deep into levels of the ship he had never explored before. He had no idea where he was or where he was leading them. 

He turned another corner and every ounce of hope drained out of him. He had run straight into a dead end. 

_Go figure._

Squaring his shoulders, he turned around, facing Jackson and Bolt head on as they cornered him, red-faced and panting. He tried to think of a sarcastic one-liner, but didn’t have time before they lunged forward, each taking one of his arms and holding him back. He grunted and struggled, but even with all of his combat training, the fact remained that they were both bigger and stronger than him, and he was pinned helpless. 

“Don’t bother. You’re going nowhere unless I allow it,” said a somewhat distant voice. Victor Trevor approached the three of them from the hallway that lead them there. 

“Where’s Sherlock,” John growled, disgusted with him. 

“Oh, he’s fine. He’s tending to your little friends. Ought to keep him busy while I deal with you.”

John hated the prickle of fear at the back of his neck. _This scumbag is nothing,_ he told himself. _He’s a filthy traitor. He couldn’t even face me alone without having his thugs here to hold me down._

“Deal with m-?”

Victor lunged forward and grabbed him by jaw, squeezing hard. He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed all the little games you’ve been playing. With me. With Sherlock. All the little glances and the secret rendezvous. And the spying on me. I’ve just about had it. And I’m not putting up with you.”

_What games?_ John thought. _Sherlock simply likes me better than you. That’s all there is to it. There’s no “game.”_. He was just about to tell him so when Victor’s hand dropped lower and gripped his throat, cutting off his airways harshly. 

“Not anymore. You’re done.” Black spots danced in John’s peripheral vision as he struggled to release his arms from Jackson and Bolt, with no success. His head began to buzz from lightheadedness as he lost vision quickly. Right when he was about to pass out, Victor released his throat. He sucked in a lungful of air desperately. 

“But don’t worry. I won’t kill you just yet.” With that, he pulled his arm back and thrust a punch deep into John’s gut, knocking the breath clean out of him. Before he could regain his breath, another punch landed in the same spot. And then a third one on his jaw, causing a sickening crack. 

No matter how many times he was hit, John refused to stop struggling, stop breathing, stop trying to hit back, or shout for the help he knew wouldn’t come. At some point, he was thrown to the ground and beaten severely by all three of them. After a particularly hard kick to his gut, all the strength drained out of his body. He fell limp to the ground, and after another kick to his face, he blacked out. 

***** 

When he came to, he was lying on the deck floor, his head pounding audibly in his ears. He could feel his hair matted down with blood on his forehead. And even though he hadn’t moved yet, he could tell his entire body would scream in protest when he did. 

He tried opening his eyes, but his vision was blurry and all he could make out was the blinding sunlight. Allowing his eyelids to fall back shut, he forced himself to tune into the conversation around him to keep himself from drifting off again.

“One more time, Sherlock, before I beat his head in again. In front of you this time,” came Victor’s voice from behind him. The sound was muffled in his ears, as if he were listening from underwater. 

“I don’t have them anymore. I swear,” came Sherlock’s voice, equally muffled. 

“I’m calling bullshit.” A pair of large hands grabbed John by the hair and pulled him up to his knees. He was unable to tell if the scream he heard was out loud or just in his mind. He tried opening his eyes again, but they lolled back into his head. A cold blade pressed into his neck. 

“Can you remember where they are now?” John could feel Victor’s breath on the side of his face as he spoke, and his voice vibrating in his chest against his back. As much as he tried to keep his head up, he couldn’t stop it from rolling back against Victor’s shoulder as the blade suddenly pressed harder into his skin.

“NO STOP! Please! They’re in my cabin. There’s a hidden compartment on the underside of my desk. It’s all there. Just…. Please.” 

“Thank you, Sherlock.” As Victor shoved him forward, John prepared himself for the hard floor to smack against his face. Instead, a pair of long arms caught gently and pulled him in, almost cradling him. 

He heard Victor’s voice again, more muffled than before. It sounded like he was giving an order, but he couldn’t make out what it was before he drifted into unconsciousness again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry if you were hoping for a more detailed description of their night together! I tried really hard to write something smuttier, but I just... couldn't do it. I know, I'm a terrible person. Maybe when I write my next fan fiction I'll be less self conscious :P
> 
> As always, hope you enjoy and please comment! :)


	11. Chapter 11

When John’s eyelids cracked open, all he saw was fuzzy gray. His head pounded as he remembered the events from earlier in the day. Victor and his boys rebelling against Sherlock, Molly getting shot, him getting chased down and beaten to a pulp, and finally being threatened in order to force Sherlock into revealing the location of something Victor wanted. 

Forcing his eyes further open, he blinked several times to focus his vision. He was in the brig. He recognized it from his first few days here as prisoner. He attempted to sit up, but every muscle in his body tightened in protest. As he let out a groan of pain, a hand gently coaxed him to lay back down. It was then that he realized he had been laying with his head in Sherlock’s lap for who knows how long. 

“Don’t move. Just rest,” said the familiar baritone voice, as the hand gently stroked through his hair. 

“How long was I out?” John mumbled to Sherlock. 

“A few hours. It’s evening now.”

He internally groaned again and looked around the cell. In the opposite corner, Greg was re-wrapping the bullet wound on Molly’s shin. Both were spotted in purple bruises and scratches, but seemed to be holding up okay. 

Molly glanced at John and realized he was finally awake and looking at her. She gave him a soft, tired smile, which John returned. No words necessary. She suddenly winced in pain, and her attention was brought back to Greg tending her wound. 

Above him, Sherlock awkwardly cleared his his throat. Molly and Greg turned their attention to him, and John turned his head in his lap to see him properly. 

“I…. feel I owe all of you an apology. Allowing you all to be hurt like this-”

“Sherlock, no.” 

“It is my duty as captain to protect members of my crew like family. And seeing as I have failed in that-”

“Sherlock, shut up. None of us could have stopped what happened.”

“I should have seen it coming.”

“None of us did.” Sherlock smiled down at him gratefully. 

“You did your best, mate. But we’re in this together,” Greg added with a smile. 

John turned his head back in Sherlock’s lap so he was facing the rest of the cell. Across from him, Greg continued tending to Molly. He occasionally leaned in and whispered in her ear, causing her to giggle and reply in similar whispers. She leaned into his shoulder as they continued their private conversation in hushed whispers and laughs. 

John smiled to himself, happy for them, as he allowed his eyes to drift back shut to the rhythm of Sherlock’s fingers combing through his hair. 

***** 

Aggressive footsteps thudded down the stairs. Sherlock, John, Molly, and Greg looked curiously towards the sound. It was late into the night, and they had all just gotten comfortable and were dozing off. 

Victor turned the corner and faced their cell. “Sherlock. Come with me.” Sherlock made to detangle himself from John, who was leaning against his chest. 

“What, no! What for?”

“John,” Sherlock warned. He knew he wouldn’t want him arguing, that it would be better to just cooperate, but he didn’t care. 

“No, there better be a bloody good reason.” 

“He’s going to help me get what I want,” Victor said.

“Oh, and let me guess. If he doesn’t, you’ll just kill him, right?”

“No. I’ll kill the rest of you. One by one.” This stopped everyone for a moment. Even Sherlock’s breath caught in his chest. 

After a shaky breath, Sherlock spoke, his voice cautioning. “Victor. I know what you’re doing. You can’t. You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Sure. Just because you were too weak to follow through, doesn’t mean I am.”

“What’s going on?” John inquired.

“Victor thinks he can finish tracking down Moriarty, kill him, and loot.”

“You must be joking.”

“Alone, yes, I know. Impossible. But Sherlock here has spent years dedicating his life to this. With his help and with the scraps of his work we found in his desk, a piece of cake.”

“Victor, no. It’s not tracking him down that’s impossible. You can’t possibly hope to take him on and survive. He’s too dangerous.”

“Well maybe there are one or two things that I’m capable of that you aren’t.” He unlocked the cell door. “Out. Now. And I don’t want to hear another word unless I ask you to speak.”

***** 

Day in and day out, John, Molly, and Greg remained shut in the brig. Sherlock was escorted every morning to assist Victor and returned every evening. And each evening brought on the same conversation. 

“What did they have you do.”

“John, for the last time, I can’t tell you. They’ll know if I do.”

***** 

Several days into this routine, Victor stopped coming to fetch Sherlock with no explanation. Sherlock revealed to John, Molly, and Greg that they were nowhere near finished tracking Moriarty, so there was no reason they wouldn’t need him anymore.

Several days passed and no one came for Sherlock. Until one day, Jackson came down to the brig with a different order to carry out. Sherlock rose from his spot to follow him up, but was stopped. 

“Not just Sherlock this time. All of you. Let’s go.” Confused, John, Molly, and Greg rose and followed Sherlock and Jackson out of the brig.

Up on deck, Jackson held onto both of John’s arms, keeping him in place. Bolt stood next to them gripping the backs of Molly’s and Greg’s shirts. 

In front of them, Sherlock and Victor faced each other. Victor smiled at him, for a good moment, and then cocked his arm back and punched Sherlock in the nose, knocking him to the ground. 

John struggled against Jackson’s grip on his arms, but it was no use. On the ground, Sherlock put a hand to his nose, which was covered in blood along with the entire bottom half of his face. 

“You thought I wouldn’t catch on to what you were doing?” Victor kicked him in the stomach. “What kind of idiot do you take me for?” Another kick. He left him on the ground for a moment, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath. 

He then knelt down so he could look Sherlock more directly in the eye.

“I knew you were deceiving me, Sherlock. You tried to throw me off and delay my plans as long as possible. But it didn’t work, did it? I told you, Sherlock, there are some things that I’m better at than you. And I brought myself back on track and finished tracking Moriarty down without your help.”

He rose and spoke to John, Molly, and Greg. “I brought you all up here so that you can witness me carry out the ends of my plan. And Sherlock, so you can see me have everything you worked for. While you just sit there. Because you gave up. Tie them up.”

Jackson and Bolt pushed John, Greg, and Molly against a mast. Victor hauled Sherlock up and had him join them and tied a thick, sturdy rope around all four of them together. 

“Victor,” Sherlock breathed, still gasping. “You can’t do this. I’m telling you.” Another swift punch to the jaw shut him up.

“You’re just upset that I’m finally getting everything you wanted. Just because you failed doesn’t mean I’m going to. I won’t. And you get to see it all happen, front and center. Because I now know exactly where Moriarty is and we’re heading there right now. On we sail, boys!”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close to the end!!! 
> 
> As always comments and kudos are very much appreciated! :) Hope you enjoy!

They approached the largest most menacing ship John had ever seen before. The flags were blackened and torn at the edges. The wood was discolored and graying. The floor levels tiered up and up, towering over their own ship. Ignoring the panic in his chest, John thought Victor was truly out of his mind.

“Victor. Listen to me.”

“Shut up, Sherlock.”

“You can’t do this. You’ll die. We’ll all die.”

“Quiet.”

“You don’t know him. He’s ruthless.” 

“I said QUIET.”

John, who had been fumbling with his tied hands, found a rather weak spot in the knots. Trying to hide his smile, he dug up some old skills he acquired in the military and set to loosening the bonds further. 

Victor stood at the tip of the bow, his determined gaze fixed onwards at Moriarty’s ship. Rage boiled in John’s stomach at the sight of this … this _bully_ standing in Sherlock’s spot. 

They crept onwards and pulled up right alongside Moriarty’s looming ship. This close up, it was even more obvious how much it dominated theirs in size. Victor barked out the order to anchor onto it. Jackson and Bolt made their way to comply but were interrupted by a sudden, powerful thud below them, which sent vibrating tremors all the way up to the deck.

Moriarty had anchored onto them. 

“Oh my god,” John breathed. Beside him, also tied up to the mast, Sherlock hung his head in defeat. 

Up at the bow, Victor was holding a death grip on the edge of the ship, still shaken from the anchor’s shove. He breathed heavily, slight panic in his eyes as their ship was slowly, ever so slowly, pulled in.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Sherlock bellowed furiously, clearly panicking. “Don’t just stand there, you complete fool! Prepare firearms! Arm your men! _Do_ something!” 

“Right, uh, yes. Um, Jackson! Load the cannons!”

Jackson stared at him obliviously. Handling firearms was Molly’s job. 

“You’ll have to release me if you want any chance of fighting back,” Molly said with conviction, although there was a slight quiver in her voice. 

“No,” Victor shot, drained of all his previous confidence. “You lot had your chance.”

“Victor,” Sherlock growled low and dangerously. “For just one moment, put your overinflated ego aside and realize that you stand no chance without Molly’s help. And the rest of us for that matter. Release us now.”

“Shut up!” Victor barked from the cannons. His hand fumbled furiously, trying to figure out how to work them. You’re not my captain. You had your chance, and you gave it up. This is my moment, and you will not steal it.” 

But it was too late. Their ship was pulled up snug against Moriarty’s now. They all gazed across and caught their first glimpse of him. 

He stood at the tip of the bow with his hands behind his back, just like Sherlock did. He wore a long dark coat, black boots, and a black hat with a red tie underneath it. From this distance, John could just barely make out a gold earring and some rather dark tattoos in various locations. 

But above all else, it was his facial expression that caused panic to rise at an alarming rate in John’s chest. Apart from his dark, dangerous-looking eyes, his entire face was completely relaxed. His stance was tall and looming, but at the same time… relaxed. This was a man that killed and killed again with no second thought. A man that held no regrets of the terrible things he had done. A man with no conscious. 

“Oh my god,” Victor stuttered, running his hands through his hair as he finally comprehended how unprepared he was for this. 

Sherlock looked down at John when he felt him wiggling against their bonds. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up. I’m almost done.” He had almost loosened the ties around his hands enough to pull one free, but he wasn’t quite there yet. 

Moriarty stepped onto the plank connected their ships and strolled on board. He breathed in deeply and smiled, his arms stretched out in front of him like a king entering his palace. 

Several armed members of his crew followed up. Victor, Jackson, and Bolt, all weak at the knees, put their arms up in surrender. Moriarty slowly stalked around them all, taking everything in, eyes lingering on everyone in turn. 

He stopped in his tracks when he reached Sherlock smiled wide. It churned John’s stomach. He began stroking his chin in mock-thought. 

“Do I know you? You look… familiar.” Beside John, Sherlock, breathing heavily in barely-controlled rage, was glaring wrathfully at the man through the fallen curls in front of his eyes.

Moriarty snapped his fingers in realization. John’s couldn’t figure out if his hesitation in recognizing Sherlock was an act or not. 

“Of course! You’re the Holmes boy. The younger one if I remember correctly. Your older brother was something of prick, was he not?” He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Yes… That’s right, I shot up your mummy and daddy, didn’t I? Gosh,” he said, smiling as if remembering a fond childhood memory. “That was so long ago. We were both so young. I was just starting out in my life as a pirate lord, and I was already able to take down one of the most influential families in Britain.” 

Sherlock was positively fuming now. His teeth were gritted and his chest heaved with rageful breaths. 

“Oh, look at you. You miss your mummy? Huh? What about your fat brute father? So pathetic… I wish I’d finished you all off right then and there. At least I’ll get to now. Your brother I couldn’t care less about. But you…” He reached forward to stroke Sherlock’s cheek. 

“Don’t you dare fucking touch him!” John growled the moment his fingers came into contact with his face. Moriarty looked at him with newfound interest.

“Oh, what’s this?” He looked between him and Sherlock. “You got yourself a pet, did you? I should get myself one. Been meaning too. Maybe I’ll just have to share yours,” he said looking John up and down. 

Sherlock, now all but foaming at the mouth, struggled against the ropes. This only made Moriarty smile in satisfaction. John, on the other hand, was so very close to freeing his hands.

“But for now I’ll just take care of the second Holmes brother. I at least hope he’ll be more of a challenge than his old haggard of a mother and cowardly drunkard of a father.”

John pulled free and lunged towards Moriarty, grabbing him roughly by his lapels. Moriarty simply chuckled, holding up his hands to stop his men from shooting everyone they were holding at gunpoint. 

“Tsk, tsk, Sherlock.” John was both furious with him and astounded that he remembered his name. “You should really train your pets better. This one will need some disciplining.”

John shook the man once in his arms, knowing he couldn’t do much else to hurt him without getting everyone shot. 

“What’s your name, sweet thing?”

“John,” he growling grudgingly through gritted teeth breathing down into his face.

“Well, Johnny-boy, I hate to break it to you, but Sherlock here has not been entirely honest with you,” he said as if talking to a five-year-old. “You see, he owes me. He owes me a fall.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“What’s going on here is far too complex for your tiny, little brain to comprehend, I’m sure, Johnny-boy. So just step aside and let daddy finish his business here. I promise I’ll reward you very nicely later if you’re a good boy.” 

John looked back at Sherlock in question. He was hanging his head in defeat. “Do as he says, John.”

“Sherlock, what’s going on?”

“You heard him, Johnny-boy. Let the big boys play.”

“Someone tell me what the hell is going on!”

“Sherlock here has been following my trail of bread crumbs for the past several years. And they’ve lead him right into my arms, just as I want.”

John looked back at Sherlock who was staring at Moriarty in confusion.

“Oh come on, Sherlock. You really think that if I wanted to slip around unnoticed, I wouldn’t be able to? I’ve been leaving clues for you because I wanted so badly to meet you again. To finish what we started. And you came straight to me like a mouse to a trap.” 

Moriarty looked back to John and smiled. “And now, Sherlock gets to watch all of his friends die before I kill him.” He paused. “Unless…”

“Unless I offer to die,” Sherlock completed. “Unless I sacrifice myself to save them.”

“Very good. Looks like I’ll get your little pet all to myself after all.”

“Sherlock, no!”

“Untie him, boys.” Two men cut Sherlock loose and hauled him forward. Another one pulled John off of Moriarty and held him back by his arms. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled against the man’s arms. He watched Sherlock walk forward, head held high, and step onto the plank. 

“Sherlock…” he whispered to himself as tears prickled in his eyes, blurring his vision. Sherlock willingly walked forward and looked down into the dark, ominous water.   
He turned to look back at John and smiled weakly, heaps of love in his eyes. “I need you to be strong, John.”

“Sherlock, listen to me. Don’t… you can’t,” he pleaded, tears now streaming freely down his face.

“Be strong for Molly and Lestrade,” Sherlock said, his voice softer than it’s ever been. “Be strong for me.”

“No. Oh god, no… you can’t…. please…” John’s knees had now gone so weak that he slumped forward. The crew man’s arms were the only thing keeping him from falling. He watched a single tear trickle calmly down Sherlock’s face and his heart tore in his chest. His body shook with sobs. 

“Sherlock… I… I,” 

“Goodbye, John.” And with that, he turned around, spread out his arms, and fell into the water.


	13. Chapter 13

Time stopped. The world around him was silenced. The only sounds he heard were the horrifying echoes of the splash and his heart thumping in his ears. 

“Sherlock,” he whispered, repeating the thought to himself over and over like a mantra. The man who was supporting his dead weight released him. He fell to his knees, his head still spinning. 

“That’ll do,” came Moriarty’s voice, muffled and disoriented in John’s ears as if coming from underwater. “Untie the others.”

“Sherlock… Sherlock…” John repeated in desperate pants as he crawled to the edge of the ship. His heart pounded steady and firm in his ears. Gripping the ledge, he pulled his entire weight up with only his wobbly arms. 

“Sherlock,” he breathed, looking down at the foamy, white bubbles where his companion had vanished. All feeling drained from his body as he fell limp and slumped down to the floor once again. This time, Molly’s soft arms enclosed around him, cradling him to her chest. Greg kneeled on his other side putting his hand on his shoulder.

John sobbed quietly into Molly’s shoulder, hating himself for breaking in front of everyone like this. She rubbed his back and shushed him gently. “Oh, John,” she said, leaking a few tears herself. Greg, stone-faced from shock, squeezed his shoulder tightly.   
“Oh god,” he said in disbelief. 

“Now then,” Moriarty said loud enough to get all three of their attention. “Who, might I ask, is the captain of this sad excuse for a ship?” John, Molly, Greg, Jackson, and Bolt all readily looked at Victor. 

Victor was kneeling with his hands above his head, shaking and cowering. Moriarty strolled over and kneeled to look him right in the eye. “Please,” Victor sniveled. Moriarty smirked in return.

“You’re not really the captain, are you?”

Victor’s eyes widened in surprise.

“That’s what I thought. It doesn’t suit you, hon. You seem more the sidekick type, if you don’t mind me saying. And a lousy one at that. I would tell you to choose your battles more wisely next time but the thing is,” he paused and let out a cruel laugh. “There won’t be a next time for you, my dear.” 

“No, please!” Victor blubbered. Moriarty stood and nodded to the man holding Victor at gunpoint, his eyes void of any emotion or sympathy. The man clicked a bullet into the chamber of his gun and, without a second’s hesitation, shot him in the head. 

Victor’s weeping stopped abruptly, and he fell forward from his knees hitting the ground with a sickening, final thud. 

Molly and Greg enclosed tighter around John, the three of them forming a triangle of sorts and clutching each other for security. Moriarty’s cold gaze fell on them as he stroked his stubbled chin teasingly. Around them, his men prepared their guns and waited for the order. 

“No,” Moriarty finally concluded after scrutinizing them carefully. “Leave them. They’re my… shall we say, tokens.” With a wave of his hand, he sent his men scattering around the ship. 

John watched in dismay as the men tore through the ship he had grown to love, rummaging through bins, tearing open cupboards, wiping shelves clean. They looted through everything John, Molly, and Greg had held dear and carried it back to Moriarty’s ship over the board that connected them. 

Horror struck John as two men yanked the door to Sherlock’s quarters open and entered without invite. Hatred and disgust boiled in his stomach as he watched them tearing through Sherlock’s things with their filthy, grimy fingers. 

Swallowing back the hot bile rising in his throat, he turned his vengeful gaze towards Moriarty. If he thought he was angry when Victor stood in Sherlock’s spot, he was wrong. The sight of Moriarty at the tip of the bow, hands behind his back in a perfect imitation of Sherlock, filled him with complete and utter white hot fury that flooded through his entire body. 

What was worse for John was that he knew he could do nothing about it. He, Molly, and Greg were unarmed and outnumbered. Moriarty had demonstrated he had no qualms about killing a man in cold blood. They were utterly helpless. 

The crewmen carried the last of their newly acquired assets to their ship, leaving them alone on the deck with Moriarty. He strolled over slowly and looked down at them with a nasty smirk. 

“So,” he started, clearly amused at the sight of the three of them huddling together on the floor. John, still weak and limp from Sherlock’s death, was heavily leaning on Molly for support. 

“I’ve thought it over. I have to admit, the three of you plus Sherlock and his thugs made a handsome crew. So instead of keeping you as my…. prizes.” He punctuated this word with a lingering, suggestive glance at John, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll off you a quite a merciful choice: You can either come on board and work for me…. or you can stay here and die. The choice is yours, lovelies.” 

John breathed heavily to steady himself. “I would rather DIE,” he growled through gritted teeth, “than _ever_ work for you.” Molly hugged his arm tighter and Greg gripped his shoulder in affirmation, a silent gesture that they were there with him till the end. 

The corner of Moriarty’s lip twitched upwards, yet his eyes remained cold and dead, void of any sign of humanity. “As you wish,” he said, and pulled out his gun.

John, Molly, and Greg exchanged looks. In their eyes, they all accepted death together. With a small nod, Molly clung tightly to Greg and buried her face in his shoulder. His arms closed around her in turn and he buried his fingers in her hair. John leaned into the two of them, the hole in his heart where Sherlock once was burning in his chest. 

John looked up into Moriarty’s empty, black eyes in defiance. He was not afraid. He chose this and would rather die than sacrifice his dignity and spite Sherlock’s memory by working for this despicable man. 

Moriarty aimed his gun at him, and John stared right down the barrel. He squeezed Molly and Greg’s arms in reassurance, and closed his eyes. He pictured Sherlock’s beautiful smile, the crinkles around his twinkling, blue-green eyes, the lovely creases in his face, his plush, pink lips. He wanted this to the last image in his mind before he died. He tilted his chin up in confidence, took a deep breath, and awaited his fate.

And the deafening crack of the gunshot filled his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT THE END!!!!
> 
> Worry not, friends, worry not :)


	14. Chapter 14

The gunshot echo rang in his ears.   
One moment passed.   
And a second.   
And and third. 

John’s eyes remained squeezed shut. His heart thumped in his ears. 

One beat. Two. Three.

_I’m still alive,_ he thought breathing heavily. 

Four beats. Five. Six. 

Then came a hard thud in front of him. He opened his eyes and saw Moriarty falling to his knees, his glassy eyes looking right through him. A dark circle expanded on his chest and pooled down the front of his white shirt. He fell forward face-down with a final thud. 

John’s breath caught in his throat. Now visible standing behind Moriarty was Sherlock, dripping wet and holding a gun. 

_I am not dead. Sherlock is not dead. Sherlock is alive. Sherlock… is alive._

Beside John, Molly cried from delight. 

“Ooh, you bastard,” Lestrade said, all too thrilled to see the man. But John remained motionless. Their gazes remained locked on each other as Sherlock cautiously approached him. 

John slowly stood, wary of his wobbling legs. He took one step forward. Two. Three. Never once breaking eye contact. At last they were standing right in front of each other. 

Several long moments passed. John’s breathing quickened as emotion filled him: love, anger, betrayal, love, relief, love, grief, rage, love. 

Regret filled Sherlock’s eyes. “Look, John, um, I realize I probably owe you some kind of exp-”

John cut him off by launching himself at the man, pulling him in by his coat, and pressing a desperate kiss on that plush mouth of his. One hand pulled him in by the back of his head, tightening the seal even further. After momentary hesitation, Sherlock melted into it. He cupped John’s jaw and moved his mouth against his. 

Behind them, Lestrade gave a hearty cheer and Molly giggled. John pushed deeper and deeper into Sherlock’s mouth, indifferent to their audience. Sherlock broke the tight seal of their lips and pulled back with much difficulty. “John,” he gasped. 

John was having none of it. “You right bastard,” he growled. He clutched Sherlock’s face and pulled him back in. This time he shoved his tongue in, using his teeth and lips to _devour_ Sherlock's mouth. Within moments Sherlock was whimpering and barely holding himself up. 

“Er, guys,” Lestrade said, reminding them, specifically John, that they were not alone. 

With one last particularly hard suckle on Sherlock’s mouth, John released him. Sherlock smiled breathlessly, his face still in John’s firm hands. “Let’s take you home, John.” 

***** 

They anchored off of Moriarty’s ship leaving his crew lost and confused without their captain. Sherlock reassured everyone that nothing of value had been lost and it was not worth risking their lives again to try to win their stuff back. It was best to leave them be. 

Lestrade set them off sailing out into the open sea. John helped Sherlock wash up and change out of his wet clothes before standing with him at the edge of the ship. He stood in front of him leaning back into his chest, the pirate’s long arms tight around his body. 

“You are going to tell me how you did it, you know,” John said as Sherlock lazily stroked his blonde hair, his chin resting atop his head. 

“In time, yes.”

“How about now?”

“Now?”

“Why not?”

Sherlock chuckled. 

“If you insist. I used the rope, John.”

“The rope?”

“The rope you used to to save me when I fell overboard during that storm. You threw it in the water but never reeled it back in. It was still tied to the mast and hanging over the edge into the water. I simply stayed under long enough to convince everyone, including you, that I had drowned. And then I swam over as discreetly as I could and grabbed hold of the rope. I climbed up and broke into a window leading into one of the lower levels. I acquired a gun, all while steering clear of the looters. And then I simply had to wait until Moriarty was alone so I could kill him without getting the rest of you or myself killed.” 

“The rope… oh.”

“Yes. Problem?”

“No, no. It’s just… disappointingly simple, if you don’t mind me saying. I mean, you don’t get to fake your own death every day. I would’ve thrown in, I don’t know, a hypnotist, a team of confidants, a fake corpse, some dramatic music… you know.”

“Everyone’s a critic.”

“So did you know? That you were going to survive when you agreed to jump? Or did you think of the rope after?”

Sherlock placed a chaste kiss on the top of John’s head. “I didn’t know for sure.”

John let that sink in. Sherlock was actually willing to die for him. They gazed out into the water for several minutes, content in their silence. John settled further into Sherlock’s chest and enjoyed the sound of the rolling waves, the crackling sea, the rushing wind, and Greg and Molly’s cheerful laughter up at the wheel.

“Are you angry with me?” Sherlock piped up quietly after a while. “For making you think I had died? For putting you through all that? Letting you think you were going to die as well?”

“No, I’m not. You did what you had to do. Yeah, it nearly broke me to see it, but you didn’t have all that much of a choice. Plus, it was very short lived. Now if you had left me hanging there for, say, two years or something, then I just might’ve knocked you clean to the ground,” he said with a smile. 

“And Sherlock?” 

“Mmm?”

“What did you mean when you said you were going to take me home? I am home. I’m with you.”

“Well it’s hardly safe for you to be here anymore. You’ve nearly died on more than one occasion and I’ll not have you getting hurt anymore. It’s best for us both if you return to where you’re safe.”

“There’s nothing left for me in London, Sherlock.”

“I’m afraid you must return. I’ve kept you here long enough.”

“Not against my will. And what will become of you then? You can’t just keep aimlessly wandering the seas. You’ve achieved your mission. You’ve killed Moriarty. That’s why you became a pirate in the first place.”

“I’ll figure it out, John. Don’t worry about me.”

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come back to London with me. We could find a flat share and live together. Molly and Greg too. We could start a new life.”

“I’m a wanted pirate, John. I can’t just wander into the city and buy a flat share.”

“Your brother, Mycroft.”

“What of him?”

“You said he works in government. Surely he could be of use.”

“He does practically run the British government. I suppose I could have him pull a few strings…”

“You could start clean. We could make new lives for ourselves and be together. Is that… is that something you would want?” John asked cautiously. 

Sherlock smiled warmly and took his hand. “I think I’d like that very much, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's stayed with this to the end and for the kind comments! My next long fic will be a sort-of HLV fix-it, so stay tuned for that
> 
> If you want, you can follow me on tumblr at itsjohnlockokay for more writing! 
> 
> Thanks again everyone, it's been great!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction, and I'd love feedback!  
> This was so much fun to write. I'd love to know what ya'll think and if you have any suggestions :) I'll be updating regularly!


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